PAPARAZZI

Ever since being awarded the prestigious Prix Mulet in 2009, Currado Malaspina has been badgered by paparazzi. Worn out by the pesterings and provocations of the dogged "entertainment press," he finally gave in and decided to ignore them. As a result, the French tabloids can be counted on to regularly publish scurrilous and compromising photographs of my beleaguered and indecorous friend.

On any given morning, an ill-focused photo will appear depicting the Continent's most beloved Lothario fixed in drowsy embrace with another vedette du cinéma, fashion model, socialite or innominate blanchisseuse. One gets the impression that Currado spends all his valuable time pursuing fleeting intimacies.


How can a grown man allow his polymorphously perverse, arrested sexual development be exposed in front of a callous and critical public and still maintain some modicum of self-respect? This is not some small matter of indiscretion or a harmless though antiquated expression of the French conceit of "droit de seigneur." No, Malaspina is a frail, emotionally impecunious adolescent.


I dare say, there are other ways to dwell in the public's imagination, pursue prominence and garner renown.

IlIUM IS ABLAZE

Mime, considered by some as the stepchild to serious theater or the awkward actor's version of the bagatelle, has always been a guilty pleasure of my good friend Currado Malaspina. Mime troupes like The Oxford Ritualists, Omlette and Le Antilopi Fame, though indisputably coarse and uncultured, have traditionally maintained a loyal and devoted following among French artists and intellectuals.

The Oxford Ritualists, Dublin, 2006

The Oxford Ritualists, known mostly for their mute reenactments of musicals like Jesus Christ Superstar and Come Fly Away, have for years been fixtures at Malaspina's huge rue Gassendi atelier. Currado regularly hosts what he calls "cene di pantomima," lavish dinners where plates of exotic game are served to silent guests wearing togas and kothornoi. 


After much heavy drinking, improvisational mime games are played where quiet, passionate arguments sometimes devolve into bitter fistfights or worse.

By far, the most outrageous, if not the most talented ensemble is Le Antilopi Fame, comprised of the cousins Kaj and Ezra Antilopi and their Uncle Heikki. Canonized in their native Finland, Le Antilopi have performed at street fairs, arts festivals, opera houses, coffee shops, comedy clubs, art museums, amphitheaters, soccer stadiums and anywhere else where their unique social commentary can be effectively expressed.

They created a bit of a scandal this summer at the Kaajani Fringe Festival when they presented a moving yet comic rendering of The Trojan Women with sets and costumes by Los Angeles artist Dahlia Danton.

The performance was briefly interrupted by a small group of feminists and trade union activists who saw the piece as a mocking, ill-mannered apotheosis of housework.  Particularly galling was the scene where Talthybius, played by Kaj Antilopi, carried the body of the baby Astyanax on a dented TV tray while noisily munching on a bag of Bizli, a spicy snack food popular with Finnish and Scandinavian children.


The piece, hailed by most local critics, was written by Heikki who, like Currado, is always looking for a juicy succès de scandale.  Indeed, the two are cut from the same transgressive cloth.

Le Antilopi Fame, Kaajani Fringe Festival, September 2011 (left to right, Heikki Antilopi, Kaj Antilopi, Ezra Antilopi)